


A Minstrel's Theory, Worthy of a Fool

by BelovedFool



Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Banter, Denial, Drabble, FitzChivalry 'No Homo' Farseer, Fluff, Humor, Misunderstanding, Obliviousness, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:09:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelovedFool/pseuds/BelovedFool
Summary: All the nights that Fitz never told of, laying in the shared yurt while the Fool pressed up to him (only for warmth, of course), and the conversations that ensued concerning feelings, assumptions, and dreams. Please read and review!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Each tilde (~) denotes a different day, though it may be several or just one between the passages. I don't know why the spacing is like that.

     From dreams of fire and pain, I awoke. I was gasping, and I could sense Nighteyes' agitation. He had gone outside, but the Fool was leaning over the warm space the wolf had occupied between us to grab my shoulders. His eyes were wide with concern, and I could tell he had been shaking me.  
     "Fitz!" he exclaimed in relief as if he had done so more than once. It took a moment for my tormented and sleep-fogged brain to respond.  
     "I am alright," I managed thickly. The Fool let go of my shoulders, lying back on his side and facing me. There was no longer any room for Nighteyes, if he decided to return. "It was just a dream," I assured him, or perhaps myself. "I should go back to sleep."  
     "You should," he agreed quietly, "but you won't."  
     "What?"  
     "I know you," the Fool said simply. I thought that was all, but he continued after a moment. "And I know the sort of dreams that plague you. Long-forgotten childhood fancies, spun and distorted; the fears that spur you every day and the waking nightmares that have made you the man you are. They are one in your mind, all together more terrible than you could bear to behold, and even worse for the fact you cannot remember them now."  
     I blinked. His voice was rough and cracked from the cold and so low I could barely hear it at times, but he was right. "I--"  
     He cut me off by placing a hand on either side of my face and drawing forward to plant a cool kiss on my brow. "Go to sleep, Fitz. Or try, as you might. Nighteyes is here, and so am I." When he released me and tucked his head down to sleep, the errant strands of his fair hair brushed my chest. He still produced no warmth, but there was a comfort to having him near me. Sighing, I closed my eyes once more, my arm settling around him in thanks as I tried to surrender to sleep.

 

     I know not if I slept at all, but I came awake again suddenly, taking in a stuttering gasp as my eyes opened to blackness. The Fool roused in an instant, blinking up at me with pale golden eyes that gleamed almost as my wolf's did. "Fitz?" he asked.  
     "Fool," I replied, though I had nothing to say to him. I suppose I must have taken the same comfort from saying his name as I did from having him near me. "I did not dream this time," I told him.  
     "Nor did you sleep," he said. "Not deeply. Your breathing had barely slowed, and not at all peacefully."  
     "I fear I cannot," I admitted. "I do not know if the dreams were caused by..." I trailed off. The Fool knew well my fears.  
     "I am here," he repeated, and I got the impression it brought him comfort too. He tried to catch my eyes again, but I looked away as I always had. It was not that his gaze unnerved me; it was simply that something inside me told me I must break it.  
     "Ah, and still you cannot meet my eyes," he said with wistful amusement, giving me a ghost of his old smile. "No matter, my Catalyst, for we are still bound. Now sleep, lest you fall a-slumber on the road tomorrow."  
     I closed my eyes again. "And if I do?" I asked with a touch of our old banter.  
     "Why," he said as if was obvious, "then I would catch you."

     “But I cannot sleep,” I repeated, moments before I surrendered to the very thing itself.

~

     The Fool had taken to sleeping with his back against the thin wall of the yurt, turned on his side to face me and curled up as he always had been. Most nights, I lay down on my back to keep sleep and thus Skill-dreams from claiming me. But always he ended up coaxing me to at least try to sleep, promising to wake me if I began to show any signs of dreaming. When I rolled onto my side to do so, we ended up nearly nose to nose. He could not back up because of the wall, and Nighteyes always moved quickly to occupy the warm spot I had just vacated.

     On most of these occasions, the Fool would look at me, though I doubted he could see in the darkness; if not for Nighteyes, I would not have been able to. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could feel him let out a small sigh, his breath no more than the touch of a feather on my cheek. On one of these occasions, I asked him why he did this.

     He was silent and contemplative before answering. “It means you are leaving me, and I lament.”

     “I am just sleeping, like you told me to.” My eyes had opened again, and I searched his face for some inkling of what he meant. His courtier’s skills had served him well; his expression gave nothing away.

     “Well—” he grinned, “we all leave the world for some time when we sleep, do we not?”

     “Exactly,” I pointed out. “So why should you lament for something you as well must do?”

     His grin had not faltered. “Because once you are asleep and no longer conversing, I have no excuse to look at that pretty face.”

     Shaking my head, I closed my eyes again. Every time I came close to discovering something about him, or his true thoughts on anything, he found a way to throw a jest at me. It was what made him the Fool, more so than the White Prophet, and it was in that characteristic I saw my friend. “You could just close your eyes when I do,” I remarked.

     I felt him shake his head. “I must watch over you, remember?”

     Vaguely, I wondered if the Fool was sleeping at all. _He is, my brother_ , Nighteyes assured me. _He sleeps while you watch._ My watch was only three hours a night, which seemed precious little for one such as him. I wanted to speak, but found I could not open my mouth. The Skill river flowed through my mind again, and I had no choice but to dive in.

~

     “What you did today was completely unnecessary,” I mumbled to the ceiling.

     Beside me, the Fool stretched out like a cat before curling himself into a ball again. “Oh, Fitz,” he chided. “The only thing I have ever done out of necessity is to seek you.”

     “You will only encourage her.” I wore a grimace as I thought of Starling and her ridiculous theory. I had tried to discuss it with the Fool today, but he had simply turned it into another mockery—though whether of me or of Starling, I could not tell.

     “That’s alright,” the Fool assured me. “It gives her something to think about besides the bleak despair you so strongly exude.” He let out a small chuckle as he tucked his head.

     “I do not!” I protested. I tried very hard to keep all of my despair over the situation inside, and I did not appreciate him cajoling my very taxing efforts.

     “Well then, it must be the stench of wolf you’re exuding,” he retorted. Nighteyes let out a low growl, which prompted him to continue: “Which is fine on a wolf, of course, but not you.”

     “If you find me offensive, move,” I grunted noncommittally, shifting to get the root out of my back so I could sleep. The Fool let out a huff of air and offered no further comment. I had nearly drifted into something resembling peace when he spoke again.

     “How does a man love a man?” His tone was lilting, that which he used when he posed riddles to especially important guests at Buckkeep.

     “Pardon me?”

     “You said you love me as a man loves a man,” he clarified. “Well, how does a man love a man?”

     I thought for a moment before answering. It was a feeling that was so natural to me that I had never thought to explain it in words. “Companionably,” I said at last. “A joining of hearts that means loyalty and trust.”

     “Is that not how a man loves a woman?”

     “No,” I said immediately, then realizing how my words could have been misconstrued. “With a woman, it is about building a life together, a family. With a man, you already are that family.”

     “And this is how you love Verity? And Burrich and Chade?” he prompted. I could tell he was trying to agitate me; he had always so loved when I got flustered by his words.

     “Yes.” I struggled to say it, but it felt wrong somehow. I did love them all, and the Fool too, but I loved them each in a different way. “Verity is my King, and I love him as such. Burrich is the closest thing to a father I have ever known, and Chade…made me who I am.”

     “And what am I?” I knew that if I opened my eyes, he would be looking at me.

     _Pack_ , Nighteyes answered. _Tell him he is pack. These others, they are of a pack, but not the pack that is us. He is our pack._

     “Closer than that,” I said instead. “I do not know. All I know is that you are my dearest friend, and the love I bear you should not be questioned.”

     “Of course not!” he laughed sharply. “Only my love can be questioned, is that it?”

     I was beginning to become angry now. He seemed to be purposely feigning ignorance, or else twisting my words into something I had not said. “I never questioned your love! Starling did!”

     “Not exactly.” He spoke as if he pitied me some great blunder. “She simply questioned the kind of love I bear you.”

     “Then put the question to rest,” I begged.

     “I told you already. I love you and all that you are.”

     _That is pack_ , Nighteyes agreed fuzzily. I had to disagree. That was pack for wolves, but human bonds rarely went that far. “No,” I said. “You were throwing my words about Molly back at me.”

     “Can not a man do two things at once?” he asked slyly.

     Unable to bear it any longer, I opened my eyes. “What do you want from me?”

     Smirking, he wiggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should pay closer attention to Starling.”

     I was unsure what exactly caused the noise of disdain that issued from my throat, but it seemed to pierce the silence of the tent. I rolled onto my side to put my back to him. “I cannot speak to you in this manner,” I said coldly. His sigh was gusty, a dramatic performance which I ignored. Eventually, I turned to look at him over my shoulder, feeling guilty. “Fool?” What I gazed upon was the face of a man in so peaceful a slumber that he could not possibly be feigning it. I rolled back over to face him, never really having been angry at him but simply at my inability to keep up with his wit. Resting on my side the way I was, the root was nowhere near disturbing my comfort, so it was like that that I slept.

~

     I was nodding by the fire, only to be roused by a sharp poke from Starling. “Sleep,” she urged me. “But do so inside. I do not wish to carry you out of the cold.”

     I sat up straight and shook my head. “I am fine.”

     Kettle on the other side of Starling snorted, and the minstrel herself curled her lip in disdain. When I looked across the fire, however, I saw the Fool regarding me sadly, shaking his head. It was his expression that caused me to relent. “Alright,” I conceded, standing. Starling narrowed her eyes at me—she knew she could not so easily persuade me to do anything, but when she saw the way the Fool was looking at me she smirked and turned back to the fire.

     It was difficult to turn my mind to sleep with thoughts of both Verity and Regal running through it, as well as the sound of my companions conversing outside. I reached unconsciously for Nighteyes, who perked up. _Come hunting, my brother. You grow lethargic only from inactivity._ The idea was appealing, but when I sat up such a violent rush of dizziness attacked me that I had to reconsider the wisdom of my actions. Nighteyes understood immediately.

     Some time later, as I had been staring blankly across the tent, Starling came in and broke my trance. She picked up her harp and started when she saw I was still awake. “FitzChivalry,” she said reprimandingly.

     I grunted in irritation. Her scolding of me was irritating at the best of times. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, letting out an irritated huff of air. “Perhaps I should send the Fool in. She seems to know how to get you to take care of yourself.”

     “ _He_ has no more control over me than you do.” Not only was she wrong on that count, but if anything it was the Fool who cared for me, if for no other reason than I would not do it.

     She was already on her way out however, muttering something about blindness and stupidity, which I could only assume was targeted at me. I lay back down, trying to use Kettle’s strategy of picturing the game pieces she laid before me, and eventually managed to enter a sort of half-sleeping state. When next I opened my eyes, the Fool sat beside me, looking down upon me with an expression I could not decipher, which quickly disappeared as I stirred.

     “Fitz,” he breathed softly, and I wondered if I had given him cause for concern.

     I did not sense the others in the yurt, so I knew they had not yet come to bed. “Is something wrong?”

     “No,” he chuckled, “Starling just thought you might need a woman’s touch that was not her own.” He wore a wry smile as he said this, and he was not touching me.

     “Then she should not have sent you,” I snapped, not at the Fool but at Starling’s erroneous deductions. He appeared even further amused by this and lay down next to me on his back, his eyes sliding over to meet mine.

     “Let her think what she wills,” he told me, not for the first time.

     “But she is wrong!” I could not help but argue.

     He rolled onto his side, his grin widening. “And how would _you_ know? You have seen just as much of me as she has.”

     “It is what you have led me to believe. Were you lying to me?”

     He shrugged. “No. But I was not necessarily lying to her either.”

     I thought he meant that the truth was how the subject perceived it, which I had before heard similar versions of, so I said nothing. It did not particularly matter, if it did not bother him. In fact, I seemed to be the only one who paid any heed to it. “You are strange, Fool,” I murmured into the chill air.

     He nodded once, almost gravely, but all he did was shift closer to me, most likely to receive more of my body heat; he was shivering again. I put my arm around him. “Do you know, I think it bothers me simply because she assumes that you feel a certain way for me, just because of what she thinks you are.”

     “Perhaps she assumes I am something, just because of a certain way I feel,” he replied.

     “She assumed you to be in love with me before she assumed you to be a woman?” I asked. He nodded. “What would have given her that impression?”

      I felt him shake, but whether it was with cold or laughter I could not tell. “Only words, Fitz,” he said after a while. “’Tis what she took from my words.”

     The Fool’s words were often multi-faceted, and difficult to interpret even for one who had known him as long as I had. I could well see where she could have gotten confused, and this set my mind to rest.

~

     I had received no Skill dreams from Verity, nor from Regal and Will. I had not even attempted to see Molly, though my heart ached for her more than ever. I do not recall what I dreamed but it woke me, and I was shaking more than the Fool. He had pulled away from me and his hand was on my chest, his brow furrowed in concern.

     “Fitz…?” he asked. “Are you…?” He trailed off politely enough, but he meant to ask if I was having another seizure. I shook my head, swallowing thickly to compose myself. I did not know what had so frightened me, but I felt at once vulnerable to attack and had to sit up to look behind me, though my Wit felt no one there.

     “Fitz?” the Fool asked again, clearly still concerned. I looked down at him and smiled in reassurance. He sat up anyways, resting a hand on my shoulder.

     “I know it can be difficult to fathom,” I said, “but I too dream normally. You need not be so concerned.”

     “Sometimes normal dreams can be the worst,” he whispered, his head very close to my shoulder, “since it is one’s own mind that creates them, and not the evils of others’.” That did not do much to reassure me, and I suddenly found his touch quite welcome. He moved to his knees and put his arms around me, hugging me to his chest. “I am here,” he reassured me, just as he had every night.

     I nodded, pulling out of his embrace despite the strange tightness in my chest it gave me. “If it was but my own mind, I should be able to keep it at bay,” I told him, lying down again. He sat back on his legs beside me and said, “I shall watch over you in any case.”

     It was not necessary, but I mumbled a thanks. I longed only for the warmth and comfort of home, where nightmares could simply be nightmares, and Molly’s hands could soothe them from my brow. So vivid was this hope that as I drifted, I imagined I felt the soft press of lips against mine and I smiled, murmuring her name.

 

 


End file.
